


Spokesperson

by BummedOutWriter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Auror Harry Potter, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Humor, M/M, Mpreg, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 22:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15716706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BummedOutWriter/pseuds/BummedOutWriter
Summary: “It was entirely consensual,” Malfoy drawled, as the lights from dozens of cameras flashed across his pale face. In fact, his face was paler than usual. Honestly,gray. “Councilmen Rupert and goblin Gornuk request privacy at this tender stage of their relationship. Excuse me.” And with that, Malfoy hurried off the platform with no explanation of why he was departing so suddenly. Harry could see the slight pooch in his robes where their baby was growing. Malfoy disappeared into the building and reporters yammered in protest.Morning sickness,Harry mused, not quite sympathetic, because Malfoy didn’t seem to warrant it. A bumbling young witch stepped forward and took over the press conference.





	Spokesperson

Harry was not sure how Malfoy had ended up becoming spokesperson to the minister, but he suspected it had something to do with his combined reticence and snark. Malfoy’s underhanded insults were both productive and entertaining. He had a certain knack for shutting up even the most persistent reporters, if not just making them blush.

It was almost ironic that Malfoy, in all his infamy, and with all his media exposure, was now covertly up the duff.

At present, Malfoy was standing at his kitchen counter, cup of tea in one hand and Prophet in the other. His eyes were rapidly scanning words on an interior page. He drank distractedly, half-dressed in an undershirt and trousers with the...top button undone.

 _He’s starting to show,_ Harry realized blankly. His—their baby was really in there. He found himself stunned.

Malfoy snorted at something he read in the paper before finally putting it down. His eyes snapped to Harry, as if he only just took notice of his presence. “Want to get this over with?” he said snidely.

“Sit down,” Harry insisted, pulling out a chair.

Malfoy stiffened, and dithered, to finally join Harry at the kitchen table. It was from there that Harry could see the lines under Malfoy’s eyes.

As the two did every Thursday morning, they held each other’s hands. Malfoy leaned back, released a soft sigh, and the transfer began.

*

Their unborn child was the product of a not-to-be-mentioned one-night-stand during the Ministry Christmas party. Since then, Harry mostly saw Malfoy on Thursdays and of course, at news conferences, as the blonde coolly dismissed the Ministry’s most ubiquitous scandals. Harry watched him on the telly that day, having no reason to be at the Ministry himself on his day off.

“It was entirely consensual,” Malfoy drawled, as the lights from dozens of cameras flashed across his pale face. In fact, his face was paler than usual. Honestly, _gray_. “Councilmen Rupert and goblin Gornuk request privacy at this tender stage of their relationship. Excuse me.” And with that, Malfoy hurried off the platform with no explanation of why he was departing so suddenly. Harry could see the slight pooch in his robes where their baby was growing. Malfoy disappeared into the building and reporters yammered in protest.

 _Morning sickness,_ Harry mused, not quite sympathetic, because Malfoy didn’t seem to warrant it. Harry watched as a bumbling young witch took over the conference, nearly bursting into tears when a reporter demanded that she expound on Kingley’s midday calls to an advisor named Kandy.

*

In the later months, Malfoy used glamours in public to hide his condition, though they weren’t faultless. He still looked as though he had gained some weight.

The glamours also drained him magically, leaving Malfoy bitter and weary.

Harry could see how Malfoy’s sharp edges had softened, and he seemed to have a faint flush permanently adhered to his cheeks.

They sat in Malfoy’s kitchen as they did every Thursday, holding hands, making no mention of the baby. Malfoy was reading the prophet. Everything was business as usual with him despite his inconveniently swollen belly. Harry was not sure if he’d even made plans for when the baby arrived, as he certainly wasn’t discussing them.

Hermione said he was depressed, but Harry didn’t see it. Malfoy seemed the same prat as usual. Occasionally he snorted at the paper, at something horrible, no doubt.

Noticing that he had finished his tea, Malfoy lowered his paper. He planted his hands on the table as though to get up.

Harry sprung to his feet. “Let me do it.”

“It’s fine, Potter.”

But Harry ignored him and went about making more tea. He set a fresh cup in front of Malfoy, noting how exhausted the blonde looked. And then he heard himself saying, “Does the baby move?”

Malfoy eyed him for a moment. “Of course it does.”

Harry returned to his seat. “I never see you—”

“What?”

“Er, nothing.”

Malfoy didn’t touch his belly, at least not when Harry was around. Sometimes Malfoy closed eyes or scrunched his face arbitrarily, as though he was uncomfortable.

“It’s not like it could be avoided,” Malfoy continued. To Harry’s surprise, Malfoy then took his wrist and placed Harry’s hand on the side of his belly.

Harry could feel the gentle nudges of movement even through Malfoy’s robes. He was stunned, but Malfoy lowered his own hand, as though he wanted no part of it.

The baby stopped moving, and Harry rubbed the spot slowly. To his amazement, the baby answered with more movements—kicking.

Harry looked back up at Malfoy, to see that the blonde was staring determinedly at his newspaper. Harry used his free hand to clasp Malfoy’s. He was there to support his magic after all. He idly stroked Malfoy’s knuckles with his thumb as Malfoy continued to fastidiously ignore him.

*

Malfoy went into labor while Harry was on a mission, thus Harry was informed hours belatedly.

By the time he apparated to St Mungos, Malfoy was pale, sleeping, and decidedly not pregnant.

But across the room, in a crib, was a pinkish, squirming thing. Harry lifted her carefully. She was lovely.

“How are you?” Harry said, as he returned to Malfoy’s bedside. Malfoy by then had opened his eyes.

“Alright,” said Malfoy hoarsely. “No surgery. They used the fetal-apparation technique. I’m—everything’s fine.”

Harry hummed and nodded, unable to take his eyes off the baby, marveling at the impeccable product of his and Malfoy’s complete lack of regard for each other.

“Can you take her for a while?” said Malfoy, in such a small, uncharacteristic voice, that it caused Harry to freeze. “I’m just...so tired.”

Harry hesitated. “I—sure,” he managed, a bit astonished that it was a question, that they were already negotiating for relief of this brand new, perfect being. “You should catch up on your rest.”

That afternoon, Malfoy was discharged and Harry took the baby to Grimmauld. He took some time off work, and Mrs. Weasley helped out when she could, because despite Harry’s owls, and floo calls, and Malfoy’s daily presence at the Ministry’s televised press conferences, Harry didn’t hear from the blonde for two weeks, and neither did the baby.

*

It was surreal.

Like it had never happened.

And yet it was for the best.

“We appreciate your concerns,” Draco said, trying to look composed despite the sleepless nights, his foggy head, the soreness of his chest, the emptiness of his belly, his weary body, and the persistent sense that he was missing something. “Though the Ministry’s relationship with France is stronger than ever. In fact, Minister Kingsley has a meeting scheduled with-”

But the crowd was abruptly distracted, cameras shifting, reporters murmuring. Draco noticed then that a woman was briskly walking onto the platform. Hermione Granger—was suddenly beside him, depositing something into his arms.

A crying baby.

Draco held the infant to his chest for a lack of knowing what else to do with it. He was gripped by panic, his mind was reeling, and the world went absolutely batshit.

“Mr. Malfoy, is that your baby? Yours and Miss Grangers?”

Rolling her eyes, Granger shook her head.

“Mr. Malfoy, did you carry?” a more perceptive reporter shouted out. “Is this the reason for your recent weight gain and loss?”

“If I’m not mistaken, that baby was seen out with Harry Potter recently. Are the two of you the child's parents?”

There were gasps and murmurs.

More camera flashes.

“Mr. Malfoy…you look unwell. How recently did you give birth?”

Draco felt like throwing up.

Numb, he walked off, the baby still crying, still cradled in his arms.

He entered the Ministry and made his way into a meeting room which was, thankfully, empty. He rocked her slightly, trying to get her to calm down. Her face was so flushed, something had to be wrong with her. He stroked his finger over her blonde curls. Then he gulped, and rocked her some more.

It was his first time holding her. It was his first time really looking at her. Potter had been objective in his assessment. She indeed was gorgeous.

“What is it?” he muttered. He knew little to nothing about babies. In lieu of crying, she began to mouth at his robes.

Draco frowned. Gingerly, he unzipped his robes and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, exposing his slightly bloated chest.

She guided herself to his nipple and started to suckle—he winced. And then she fell silent, rendered content.

Draco felt his cheeks redden when Granger walked in.

She looked surprised, and approached. “How are you doing?”

Draco didn’t respond, instead shooting her a scathing look.

“I mean, you didn’t take much time off after—”

“Where’s Potter?” Draco spat. “What is going on here? Did he die or something? I shouldn’t be...” He trailed off and swallowed.

“Bonding with her?” said Granger wryly. She reached over and stroked the baby’s head with blithe disregard for the awkwardness of Draco’s position. “Harry was cursed during a raid—he’ll be okay,” she added quickly to mollify Draco’s horrified look.

Draco sucked in a deep, relieved breath. He was less concerned about Potter’s health than he was about Potter’s ability to look after the baby. Based on Granger’s look, she knew it too.

“He’ll be in the hospital for a few days as the magical damage is repaired. I think the baby misses him. I couldn’t calm her down. What she needed was the comfort of a familiar magic.”

“Fuck you Granger.” She’d ruined everything.

Granger continued to idly stroke the baby’s head as she offered a sad smile and an insincere, “Sorry.”

And he knew she wasn’t.

*

When Harry awoke, he was surprised to see Malfoy seated at his bedside, holding…their baby. And abruptly Harry found himself blinking back tears.

“Holly?” said Malfoy dryly, his gray eyes looking downwards, on the sleeping infant.

Harry snorted. “I wanted the name that would piss you off the most.”

“I’m afraid you failed in that,” said Malfoy, and it was surprisingly…tender.

“How long have I been out?”

“Three days.”

Harry blinked. “Who’s been—”

“She’s been with me. Apparently Granger and every Weasley on the planet has been suddenly indisposed,” Malfoy grumbled. “It’s great. The media’s having a field day.”

Harry’s heart was racing. “Why did you leave her?” he forced out.

“Shall I compile a list?” said Malfoy. “I’m a death eat-”

“No you’re not.”

“And she deserves better,” Malfoy continued. “She’s a half blood and a veritable bastard…”

Harry’s face darkened with indignation.

“…and my family would never accept her.” Malfoy held the baby closer, if anything. It left Harry nonplussed. “She’s yours, Potter.”

Harry scowled. “She’s _ours._ ”

“And we hate each other,” the blonde went on as though Harry had not spoken, “as the universe appropriately dictates.”

“I don’t hate you.”

Malfoy finally lifted his face, and the two stared at each other for a while. Holly started to whimper, and Malfoy sighed. “She’s hungry. I have to feed her.” He moved, as though to get up.

“Don’t go,” Harry protested.

Malfoy caught his eyes. “Then look away.”

Harry furrowed his brow in confusion. “Why?”

“Or don’t,” said Malfoy, looking irritated. As he started to unbutton the top of his shirt, Harry followed the movements, and suddenly Malfoy was nursing. He was nursing Holly. Feeling stunned, Harry gulped down the lump in his throat. He watched Malfoy, whose head was bowed, and who looked almost resigned as he observed the baby.

“Please don’t take her away,” said Malfoy quietly, almost inaudible.

Harry inhaled. “I couldn’t.”

*

At his next press conference, Malfoy’s cheeks were tinged pink from the line of questioning, though somehow he maintained his indifferent façade. “Yes, the infant is ours. No, we’re not together. We got drunk. It happens. Any questions related to the Ministry?” But they were all about Harry.

Harry and Malfoy fell into a workable routine. Harry got the baby in the mornings. In the afternoons after work, Malfoy would pick Holly up from the Burrow and bring her to his apartment. In the evenings, Harry would join them, and they would have dinner together. Harry would take her back to Grimmauld for the night, and so things proceeded, until the day that Malfoy carefully suggested that Holly spend the night at his place.

 _Right,_ Harry thought in a mixture of horror and relief. Horror because it was supposed to be _Harry_ who gave Holly her three-AM bottle, and it was Harry who was supposed to get up every time she cried.

But Harry felt relief because Malfoy wanted it. He wanted more time with their daughter. “Alright,” Harry squeaked.

And from then on, they alternated nights, and it was a difficult transition, but it was…okay.

One evening Ron and Hermione took the baby. They wanted to give Harry a break, and also wanted to get some practice in.

Harry saw Malfoy at the Ministry during lunch, and Malfoy pulled him aside. He probably wanted to discuss something about Holly.

“I was thinking shepherds pie for dinner. Or do you prefer roast lamb?”

“Roast,” said Harry unthinkingly, mainly because it was true.

Malfoy looked vaguely affronted. “Fine.” And he stalked off, leaving Harry confused.

Harry wondered if Malfoy had forgotten that Ron and Hermione were watching Holly—but he _couldn’t have_. He had practically thrown a fit about it the day before. Which meant that Malfoy still expected Harry’s company—and Harry had agreed.

Harry wandered back off to the DMLE, suddenly too uneasy to even think about lunch.

That night, during dinner, with Malfoy—and no Holly—things were quiet, and almost comfortable. There was no baby to discuss or attend to, to distract them from each other. Harry was reminded of the quiet Thursday mornings in Malfoy’s kitchen when they used to do the magical transfers.

After dinner, the two retired to the living room, to watch the news, as was their routine. Again, the baby’s absence was glaringly obvious, but Harry went with it. Malfoy procured a good bottle of wine, which was definitely not routine, and yet a rare indulgence. Harry sipped, and tried to absorb the news, but his mind kept wandering back to Malfoy, and Holly.

Harry touched Malfoy’s knee, which was definitely not routine either, but it didn’t feel abnormal, not _really_. He kept his hand on Malfoy’s warm thigh for the duration of the segment. He shifted his hand, rubbing, just slightly. In the meantime, Malfoy continued to pretend to ignore him.

After the news was over, Malfoy finally turned to glare at Harry, and it should have been a deterrent, but somehow it…wasn’t. It seemed more of a challenge.

“Do you know what you’re doing, Potter?”

 _Not really,_ Harry realized. The two stared at each other.

As the late-night broadcast began, Malfoy directed his attention back to the telly, and Harry took the opportunity to flee.

*

“We’re co-parents,” Harry managed, a few days later. He resented that he had allowed himself to get caught by the mob of rabid reporters. Was this what Malfoy had to deal with every day during his press conferences? The media seemed determined to get them to properly define their relationship. “We get along well enough.” And Harry knew he was blushing.

A young reporter practically attempted to throttle him with her microphone. “What do you say to Mr. Malfoy’s claims that he was so drunk and randy the night your daughter was conceived you might as well have been, and I quote, ‘a walking dildo.’”

“Sounds about right,” said Harry, blushing worse. “Well, I better be off.” And he apparated home.

*

The next time they were together, Harry joined Malfoy in putting Holly to bed. Just outside of the nursery, before the blonde could walk off, Harry grabbed Malfoy and shoved him into the wall. Briefly he gazed at Malfoy’s pink lips, contemplated them, and finally kissed them.

Harry yelped, and pulled back, nursing a cut on his lip. He surveyed the challenge in Malfoy’s eyes, but also the amorous undertones that darkened them. Harry felt a visceral satisfaction, and he leaned in for another kiss, but instead found himself being dragged off towards Malfoy’s bedroom.

Harry gasped as he was unceremoniously pushed back onto the bed. Malfoy raised his wand and vanished all the clothes between them.

Harry released a sharp hiss as Malfoy climbed onto his lap. Harry’s blood burned and thrummed, his heart battering against his ribs. Despite it, he held Malfoy’s hips, and tried to get control of the situation. “Um, shouldn’t we use—?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “What are the stakes, Potter?”

Another unplanned pregnancy. Those seemed like high stakes to Harry. It necessitated more thought than those few moments with his brain addled by arousal.

Despite it, he allowed Malfoy to ride him, and afterwards, Malfoy stole all the blankets, and they were a couple or something.

Harry snuggled up to the bundle of blankets, knowing that Malfoy was buried somewhere in their depths, probably. And in the morning, they kissed purposely. It sort of seemed to officialize things.

*

The magical transfers were no longer a formality, instead occurring when the two kissed, or fucked, or held hands with no ulterior motives.

When Draco began to show, there were no glamours and no secrets. The reporters were practically frothing at the mouths, and Kingsley was quite pleased that Malfoy naturally seemed to divert attention from the controversies of the Ministry.

“Yes we’re a couple now—Merlin knows why. We’re in love and whatever. Pregnant again. And, er, bonded.” Draco flashed a white gold ring, his free hand absently cradling his small belly. “Any questions about the Ministry?”

There were none.


End file.
